


Display

by Trytofocus



Series: Gallery AU [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Auction, BDSM, Bondage, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, No Sex, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Nudity, Possessiveness, Put on Display, Ring gag, Rope Bondage, Voyeurism, Whump, dark!shiro, non con bondage, non sexual bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26493511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trytofocus/pseuds/Trytofocus
Summary: Keith is put up for an internal auction at the Gallery, Shiro has some dark thoughts.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Gallery AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1105866
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	Display

**Author's Note:**

> [Audio preview](https://trytofocus.tumblr.com/post/629427716641390592/sound-on-headphones-recommended-16-k) for your listening pleasure 🔊🎧

Shiro scoffs at the whole affair from his little vantage point, leaning one shoulder against the wall while feigning disinterest. He would never be disinterested in Keith, but he had to do _something_ to vent out the frustration. 

An auction. They've arranged an _auction_. A mock one, of course. Nobody in their right mind would ever sell such a treasure. Shiro would know, as he tried to buy him many, _many_ times. It's like the curator _waits_ for him to make a new offer every month just to watch Shiro's face when the answer stays the same. Fake as this auction may be, Shiro still detests the idea that anyone but him would stand a chance to be alone with his Keith. 

Keith is, as always, the picture of perfection in every way. Shiro wouldn't deny himself the poeticism of admitting that. Seeing him standing in the display case, and this time it is a much smaller space than the usual internal glass room (scene terrariums), it only barely allows for the pose he has been made to hold. Like a wide, upright coffin. 

His legs are straight and pushed up tightly against each other, a crisscrossing diamond rope pattern keeping them secure and fixed at a middle point of the case. His arms are tied with silky yet sturdy ropes to two contact points at the sides of the glass at roughly his eye level. A thinner, finer rope, almost a thread, is tied through each middle finger, connecting like a taunt cello string to his bent elbows, palms up, bent down at the wrists as far as they would go. It's striking, graceful, especially with the way his pinky and ring fingers curl inwards, like the gentle hands of a ballerina. Shiro realizes suddenly that, just like everything else about him, Keith has lovely hands. Even if they don’t get to do much, bound as they are right now. 

The collar completes the look. It's laced, high posture, and a deep shade of crimson. It's forcing Keith's head proudly up. Shiro knows the frustration in his downward glaring eyes. He'd been there when they tied him up (paying the extra dime to see it of course), he knows the collar went on first, and once it's been clipped off to a ring in the glass case's ceiling, Keith could no longer watch what was being done to his body, only glance at his hands getting tied up from the corner of his eyes. Shiro waited patiently for the attention to fall on him as Keith watched the riggers work on him in the tight space. And eventually, it did. And oh, once it was done, Shiro's heart almost skipped a beat. 

Standing up like this, back straight, shoulders down, palms up to the sky, he knew it. He was being blessed with an image of godly grace. Keith looked like an Egyptian hieroglyph straight out of the walls of a pyramid. And the look on his face as the last piece fell into place, Shiro committed to memory. 

Every time he watches Keith getting gagged it's like a little present, just for him. He hates being gagged, and It shows, it shows, it shows. Even after all these months in the Gallery, he never stops fighting it. Of course, he always accepts it in the end. He has no choice. And he never knows when the handlers decide to do it. Sometimes they gag him first thing, and then get on with the rest of the rigging, sometimes they leave his mouth be, which, while disappointing, is necessary sometimes, Shiro has to admit, he loves to hear his voice when he chooses to use it. Keith has a wonderful, honey-husky voice. But today, he was being ring gagged. And although Keith knows he can speak through it, even when people can understand him, he knows, he knows he knows it’s no use. Nobody is there to help him. They’re only there to admire him, consume him. Once the initial fight subsides, he stops trying to make noises. At least, on purpose.

He can't quite control whenever it is he will be hitting the breaking point, in the end he will always break, as they all do. Even if he takes quite longer than other installations. It's what Shiro loves about him. True shiro loves many things about him, _everything_ about him. But his fight, that was the first thing Shiro fell for when he saw him in the new acquisitions section. And that fight, though somewhat healthily extinguished now in favor of perhaps, smartly conserving energy, surviving, enduring, remains still. Shiro's heart quickens watching him adjust his jaw against the uncomfortable spread between his teeth and the press of the posture collar into his chin forcing his head cruelly up. His breath hitches ever so slightly, with every twitch of Keith’s fingers, curling and uncurling from the uncomfortable stretch. 

He is magnificent in every way. 

When the riggers are done, the glass is shut behind him with finality. Keith moans in protest as his fate is sealed in for the next few hours, but they just make their exit through the staff entrance without a backward glance. It sickens Shiro to know these people get more of Keith than he could ever dream to, but he has to allow it. Those are the Gallery rules, and Shiro is not a handler, he is a patron. 

Not soon after, the crowd starts to pour in, the ones who didn't invest in the precursor to the main event. Shiro quietly makes his not-quite escape, and seethes in his little corner of the room as the lights all around them dim and the spot where Keith stands illuminates with a bright, warm halo. He doesn’t miss the way Keith squeezes his eyes shut, before blinking away the tears to squint at the crowd with his old familiar fury. There was no way anyone could miss him before, but now looking away from the shape he cuts immobilized in beautifully tight and inescapable bondage is virtually impossible with the spotlight fixed upon him just so.

They don't deserve him. 

It takes someone brushing softly against his shoulder to bring him out of this downward spiral, noticing they didn't just brush past him to continue inside, but to gain his attention. Sendak, the Head Curator of the Gallery stood there beside him, smiling. 

"Ethereal, isn't he?" he says, looking at the glass case adoringly. Shiro looks too, hoping his mood doesn't show quite as much as he feels it does. 

"Quite," Shiro replies. Short in words and temper. There is no way Sendak is missing it, but he says nothing of it. He's always there to nudge him ever so slightly towards the edge, knowing the person spending an obscene amount of money on their prized exhibit every month is fully at the mercy of the Gallery’s whims, as it pertains to Keith. As much as it pains him to admit, he isn't his. Not yet. And while he isn't, Sendak has his hand firmly around Shiro's finances, his throat, his balls. He knows it. Shiro knows it. And so they dance their little tango of courtship around each other, with Keith in the middle. Needing each other in the worst possible way. 

If it wasn't for Sendak, Shiro would never have met Keith, would never have been able to have him, not even in this limited capacity. It was thanks to him that Keith was in his life, and that made him important enough even for Shiro to respect. 

"The show will soon begin. Do you have your plaque ready, Mr. Shirogane?" 

Shiro produces the numbered piece of white plastic from between his folded arms in answer. It’s labeled #1 And Sendak grins. Of course Shiro would participate in the auction. He would do anything to win it. If not to be the one to spend the allotted time with Keith then at least just to prevent someone else from doing so. From polluting his masterpiece with their foreign presence, their vile words, actions. Shiro couldn't bear thinking about it, even though he knew Keith was outside of his influence and supervision most of the time, handled by Gallery staff, who knows what kind of things he has to endure while out of his sight. At least here, Shiro knows the deal, the rules. Once he is taken away every day, it is Shiro's turn to feel helpless. Until next time he gets to see him.

No, he will get this. He has the money to back it up, and he'll be damned if he let anyone else lay their eyes on Keith in private where he can prevent it. Even for the illusion of this small bit of brokered control, Shiro knows it's stronger than him. 

Keith flinches as Sendak makes his way towards his display, the vents allowing him to hear everything that's being said just fine. The crowd murmurs their adoration and appreciation in earnest and it makes Shiro sick with jealousy, possessiveness. He's not theirs to speak of this way. Damn them all to hell. 

Sendak taps the glass directly in front of Keith's face and Keith's stance falters. The collar is tethered to the ceiling and his legs are to the bolt in the floor but there's nothing else keeping him upright but his own balance and his strained, tied up hands. Not being able to see his body must be hard and he takes a moment to close his eyes and focus on finding the strength to keep standing like that through the distractions. 

His mouth is open so wide he's already drooling and Sendak makes it a point to bring attention to that, and every single thing Keith would be self conscious about. His tearing up eyes and flushed cheeks, his red and over sensitive nipples where the handlers have twisted them (to Shiro's great dismay and fascination) just before the show. The sweat beading on his tight stomach, curving and sliding down his navel to his limp cock, pushed up by his trussed up legs, on display for everyone to see. 

Shiro remembers with fondness that it sometimes perks up, noting how Keith's own kinks come into play for certain scenes, and certain exhibitions. But not today. Today he is furious and scandalized, and humiliated, all for their viewing pleasure. And they all eat it up. 

Sendak spends more time highlighting the terms of the auction. An entire hour with Keith, tied in any position they like, no glass between them. The only rule would be no touching. Other than that everything is a go. 

Priceless, Shiro thinks, as he raises his plaque before Sendak is even done calling out the first bid. He doesn't bother lowering his hand the entire time. 

Keith was his. And only his. And he would make sure only _he_ gets to enjoy him even under these atrocious and disrespectful conditions. His hand stays in the air claiming number after number, but his gaze stays on the prize. 

It was never even a competition, he knows as he outbids the last disgruntled patron, and smiles like a snake when Keith realizes who won. 

The horrified little gasp from his forced open mouth is nay imperceptible among this crowd, but Shiro looks forward to hearing every sound Keith can make once they're alone.


End file.
